


darling, dearest, not quite dead

by rhydonium



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Banter, Battle Couple, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Jedi Reader (Star Wars), Mace Windu is So Done, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Minor Character Death, Minor Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Mutual Pining, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, Padawan Ahsoka Tano, Sexual Tension, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28374996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhydonium/pseuds/rhydonium
Summary: Twenty years. You have loved Obi-Wan for twenty years and the minute he comes back from what seems to be the dead, he wants your help to kill the Supreme Chancellor. Then again, it seems almost like him to ask you to do this with him.
Relationships: Ahsoka Tano & Reader, Ahsoka Tano & You, Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker & Reader, Anakin Skywalker & You, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Reader, Obi-Wan Kenobi/You, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 12
Kudos: 100





	darling, dearest, not quite dead

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuses ndklnsf i love him :)
> 
> crossposted on tumblr x
> 
> for reference:  
> contritus | latin: broken, crumbled, worn down, crushed

Master Windu always said that a single moment defines a battle.

The moment Obi-Wan sinks his lightsaber through you, you realize that this is that moment. 

It’d been a _mistake_ —the marauder had thrown Obi-Wan forward and you’d been in his way. The Masters were too far, they were caught between giving up a Jedi holocron or their lives.

You had begged him not to give up the holocron. Your life was nothing— _nothing—_

It’d been a fatal mistake. You know it the moment he spears right through you.

“Obi—Obi-wan?” Your voice, soft as a whisper as you grab onto his wrist and his eyes, so very blue even in the light of his saber, widen as your fingers dig into his skin.

It’s a peculiar sensation, glowing, blinding, yet curiously numb as he chokes out your name and retracts the lightsaber. The hunter lets go of your shoulder and you fall forward, gasping at the shrivelled fabric melded to your skin as arms take you and you realize it is Obi-Wan who holds you tight just as the _whomsh_ of another lightsaber swings overhead. Craning up, you see a decapitated hunter, Master Windu, and Master Qui-Gon.

The body falls and so do you. Your friend falls to his knees, cradling you close and you shiver as he keens over you.

The Masters look down upon their Padawans and Obi-Wan’s tear-stained face raises wretchedly to glower at them.

“Master, I—Do _something_ —“

Oh, sweet Obi-Wan. Pleading as he holds onto you and you simply turn your head into his robes. You don’t feel any pain but you are _shivering_ as he grabs onto your hand, holds it against the burns on your stomach. 

“Bring her to the ship, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” He looks down at you, at his young face, and you smile. Maker, you love him. “I didn’t—“

“Oh, hush, Obi,” you breathe, reaching weakly for his face. Your fingers barely brush his smooth chin before the strength leaves your arm and it falls back again. He catches your hand, gently lowering it to the ground before twisting and scooping you up with an arm underneath your knees. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“If it takes my dramatics to keep you awake, I will do what I must,” he says as he follows their Masters back to the ship. Master Windu speaks into his comlink and Obi-Wan’s grip on you only intensifies when the Padawans catch him calling for medics to be waiting when they land back on Coruscant. 

They catch ‘ _critical condition’_ and _‘uncertain odds.’_

“You’re going to be alright, dearest” Obi-Wan whispers and you look up at him. Then, you smile again—he’ll be the last thing you see, won’t he?

His arms are so warm and you feel your eyelids growing heavier as the gentle sway of his steps begins to lull you to sleep.

You can hear him calling your name. 

You do not wake up until both Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon have both disappeared.

.

You wake up and everything changes.

They tell you that Obi-Wan left the Jedi Order and Master Qui-Gon had offered his life to save you. It’s an ancient Force skill with the ultimate price.

The guilt is what eats you alive, and without your other half—Obi-Wan was more than a friend and just shy of a lover—you want to leave the Order yourself and find him.

But you don’t.

You persevere. You had forgiven him. It is, you believe, what Obi-Wan would’ve done. 

What Obi-Wan would’ve wanted for you.

It is… the Jedi way.

You become a Jedi Knight in his and Master Qui-Gon’s memory. The Council trusts you, believes in your strength to return after what should have been your death. You become their top agent, true above all else. 

You escort the Queen of Naboo, you land on Tatooine, you find yourself a Padawan. You do everything you can to keep his memory alive in your heart.

You do not speak of the dreams.

In your sleep, you feel the lingering presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his terrified screams, the untamed rage in his swings. Instead of blue, everything flashes red, and when you reach for him, he pulls away.

He’s out there… somewhere. You wonder if he knows you’re alive or if he left before he could know.

You are on Coruscant in your rooms when you get your answer. The Clone Wars are beginning to wear on them all, you are a Jedi General with an old Padawan who’s found himself an apprentice of his own, and life seems… not easy, but not complicated. There is no time to think of much besides the war and although you barely sleep these days, it’s better being so exhausted you can barely even dream.

“So he was right.”

Every inch of you stiffens as you whip around, pulling out your saberstaff from your belt with a practiced flourish and activating it. The yellow plasma hums and you narrow your eyes at the intruder.

“Jedi Sentinel, one of the youngest-made Jedi Knights in the Order, yet, held in such high esteem,” he continues. His eyes, glowing yellow in the shadows, pin you down and your grip on your saberstaff only tightens as the Sith steps out into the light and your breath catches when you stare into the face of a man you thought you’d lost. “Master Windu must _love_ you, dearest.”

Obi-Wan, older, with his strong jaw covered in a beard and long hair raked back, stands in front of you with a smirk. A scar fractures his face, crossing his nose and digging into his cheek, but it only serves to amplify his looks. He’s handsome, still. Handsomer, even. 

Mature, civil, cold.

You remember Master Windu once said he could’ve been the greatest negotiator the Jedi Council had ever seen and you, the greatest fighter.

He, the calming hand. You, the fist.

Now, it seems, that they each are both.

In black armour and a hood tugged over his head, he regards you as he descends down the small flight of steps into your sitting area and you swallow, twirling your staff so it points down along the length of your arm—a show of peace, for now.

He hasn’t pulled out his own lightsaber you see hanging at his hip. It makes you uneasy.

Is it still blue? Red, now? 

All you know is that he is everything you swore to fight against.

“Sit.” You don’t even recognize your own voice when you speak, quiet and rasping as you deactivate your saberstaff and join him at the couches. Sitting across from him, you watch as he smoothes his hand over his robes and does so, pulling the hood off his head. “Is there any name by which you be called, or are you still Obi-Wan?”

His eyes snap to yours at the name and you meet him head on, your chest swelling in pain. How desperately you want to touch him, make sure this is all _real,_ you cannot even begin to describe. 

Obi-Wan, a man you had loved since they were mere children in the Jedi Temple—childish love that had matured in something wretched, something forlorn—lives in his eyes. You see it then, for a split-second, when you had said his name.

But then, it had been swallowed up by whatever sits before you now.

“Darth Contritus.”

“Catchy.”

“Hm.”

“I won’t use it.”

Silence. You look out at the balcony and note that the door is cracked open before glancing at Obi-Wan before you again. He looks at you intently, as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and you sense something stirring with him—it’s powerful, negative—and you clench your jaw, hands folded in your lap.

“What’s true, then?” you prompt after a while of his glaring. You feel bare before him after all this time and your stomach flips as he blinks, looking up from where he’d been trailing his gaze down your body, to your scarred hands, you know. 

You can feel him everywhere.

“That you live,” says Obi-Wan— _Darth Contritus_ , you should say, but you refuse. 

“I do,” you agree. “And you would’ve known that had you stayed on Coruscant.” _With me,_ you want to add but he hears it anyway. You know he does. “It’s been a long time, Obi-Wan. What is it, twenty years? More?”

“Obi-Wan,” he echoes wryly. “It’s been just as long since I heard that name. You should watch yourself lest you say that in front of the wrong people.”

“Well, you’ll always be Obi-Wan to people who loved you, hm?” Your chest tightens and you find his eyes again. His eyebrows furrow inquisitively as his hand brushes over his chin. You want to scream.

You want Anakin to barge in here, ask for advice from his former Master. Or, maybe, have the Senator of Naboo herself summon you. Have anyone demand your presence as they have for what feels like the past year with late night meetings and delegations. 

But there won’t be. You know this.

On this nights of all nights, Obi-Wan Kenobi finds you alone and your heart wilts in your chest.

Love. It weighs like a bantha between your shoulders. You once felt like you could fight a dragon with love, and now, it tears you apart slowly, limb from limb.

 _Loved_.

You cannot linger. “Why are you here? If you were here to kill me, you would’ve tried already.”

“Only tried?” he mocks, leaning back into the sofa. Your arms stiffen and he smirks. “Dearest, I would’ve succeeded.”

“And there’s that signature Kenobi smugness. It’s a relief to see that some things _don’t_ change,” you shoot back. “I’m not the same girl and you…” You laugh weakly. “You are not the same boy.” His hands shift on his knees and your eyes dart to the movement. Long, agile fingers dig into his knees and when you look at him, your gut clenches. “What do you want from me, Obi-Wan?”

“I need your help.”

That surprises you. Your chin jerks up to meet his eyes and he has that arrogant smile, that faint smirk that makes your stomach flutter even now.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this way—

 _Stop. You can’t think of that,_ you chastise to yourself. _He is everything you are fighting against—everything that a Jedi cannot be._ _He isn’t the Obi-Wan you love anymore._

Except he is. 

He always will be.

“With what?”

The fact that you do not outright deny him is proof enough.

“If I told you I know who the Sith Lord orchestrating this whole debacle was and wanted to destroy him with your help, what would you say?”

“I would say that you want something in return for my help. I would say it’s been years since we’ve last seen each other and the first time we discover the other is _alive”—_ your voice is dangerously bitter—“all you want to ask is a favour.”

He chuckles. There is a trickling trail of cold dread in your stomach. “Oh, dearest, you haven’t lost your wit.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you _what,_ darling?” He’s playing coy, but the predator in his eyes does not falter as he rests an arm along the back of the couch. 

“You _know_ what.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Obi-Wan—“

“ _Darth,_ ” he cuts you off coldly, “Contritus. Obi-Wan is dead and I am finished entertaining the thought that he is anything otherwise.”

“I refuse to believe it.” You stand, smoothing a hand over your overtunic and turning your back to him. It’s foolish, you know, but you want to know if he will attempt to strike you down for refusing him—if there is a list of people he wants to turn, wants to help him achieve more and more power. Walking around the couch, you step up out of the small pit. “Find someone else.”

You take not one more step before you feel the faintest rush and your hand shoots to your saberstaff, activating it. Whipping around, you block his swing, their blades clashing in blinding white. Red meets yellow and you feel the hum of plasma in your bones as you stare up at Obi-Wan. He pushes down on you and you grit your teeth, digging your feet into the ground and shoving him back, your boots sliding along the floor with the force of his own strike. Energy fizzes in your bones and you’re breathless.

Just his presence so close to yourself again makes your nerves burn. Your senses are overloaded, memories flooding your brain and you stiffen when he lets out a soft laugh.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

His lightsaber is burning so brightly you feel tears spring to your eyes and there is a swelling in your throat as you snap apart your lightsaber into dual blades, reversing the grip with a twist of your wrists. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly and you raise a blade up in a defensive position. 

You had spent years training in Niman and the Shien variant, convincing Master Windu to train you in Vaapad despite the temptation of the dark side, mastering them to fill the void inside you. 

You’re not about to let the man who caused it to strike you down.

“A _lot_ has changed. My answer is _final._ ”

“You don’t even know what I want.” Curse him for being so relaxed, red saber burning and hissing and crackling yet loose in his experienced hand. “Dearest—“

“ _Stop_ it.”

“ _Darling_ , is finding the Sith Lord not the Council’s priority?”

“I won’t work with you.”

“Why?” The question is abrupt, and your eyebrows furrow together quizzically. It’s genuinely asked, you realize, and your grip laxes as he deactivates his lightsaber and clips it. “You can clearly match blows with me. I won’t get the jump on you as easily as some of the other fools in the Order.” You wonder if that’s difficult for him to admit. The Obi-Wan you’d known didn’t find it hard to admit, but…

But still. Still, everything’s changed.

“Is it, I wonder, because you _care_ for me?”

Your stomach rolls and you don’t know if you should be ecstatic or terrified that he’s right.

“Obi-Wan—“

“Or because you still think of our time together?”

“There was no _time._ We were Jedi—“

“Temptation frightens you.”

“I’m not _afraid._ ”

“Now, now,” he says, walking over to you smoothly and tilting his head. He offers a crooked smile and your lips part as you suck in a sharp breath. You drop your own guard unwillingly, lightsabers shutting off with a _whomsh_ and he gently pushes your arms down. You let him—you do.

You can feel every molecule of his being coming closer, the smell of soap heavy in your nose as he stops before you. Maybe it’s because your heart is racing as he nears and you don’t even know if you’re breathing, or if it is because the love you once felt for him is roaring to life, consuming you until you are nothing more than starfire. Either way, you don’t want to know.

“We both know that the memories we share still… haunt you here…” His fingers brush over your temple and your eyes flutter shut. His touch is so soft, so tender, that you feel a part of you break. His hand trails down your jaw, down your neck, fluttering over your tunic and exposed collarbones and you know he feels you swallow. You know that he can feel every inch of you as intimately as if they were the same being. “And here…” He presses fingers to your sternum, right where your heart is. “Here is where your true desires lie.”

“I have no desires,” you grit out, pulling back but he grabs your arm before you can escape from his reach. Your head snaps up from his firm hand to his burning eyes and you are incinerating from inside out. “The Jedi—“

“—don’t give a damn about what you are or what you want. They only care about what you can do for them—“

“And that’s any different from the Sith?” You rip your arm free and immediately regret it for a flashing moment. “Get out of my sight.”

“Or what?”

“What do you mean _‘or what_ ’?” you snap, holstering your lightsabers with twitching snarl at your lips. “You said it yourself, you are no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi, I don’t love you, and I am done with this game.” There is pleasure in the way his facade seems to crack then before attempting to repair itself and there is a surge in your bravery as you shove your face into his. He can’t quite fix the breaks you’ve smashed in his mask. “ _Go_. Or this time, I’ll cut you down.”

“Hm.” His eyebrow quirks as he stares at you intently, curiously. Those eyes are nothing like the blue you had once known. “I’d like to see you try.”

Your eyes burn but you do not blink. 

“Leave. Me. _Alone._ ”

“My, my. Such anger from the Council’s prized hound,” he murmurs mockingly into your ear as his fingers brush your jaw again and there is that cocky, sickening smile in the blonde of his beard. Your lips pull into a snarl and you jerk your head away, turning around. You _detest_ this new man before you, yet you can’t even bare to see him go. You feel like everything inside you is peeling. “Anger suggests feeling, dearest. Temper that the next time you wish to convince me that you no longer care for me.”

“It’s a bold claim that I could care for someone who is everything I fight against.”

“One you didn’t deny,” he replies evenly. “Goodnight, Jedi.”

You wait until you’re sure he’s gone—when you can on longer sense his presence and your heart comes down from your throat.

You crawl into the bed and bury your face into the pillow before screaming out against every injustice in the world.

If Anakin notices anything the morning after, he does not say it. Instead, he simply says “Master” in his cordial tone as he always does and you, for the first time in a very long time, since he was a boy even, look at him and your bruised heart is listless in your chest, a puppet with cut strings. You hold his face in your hand and look at the man you’ve trained, raised from the ground up, and truly feel the life that’s passed you by.

“Are you alright, Master?”

“Fine. Just tired,” you murmur quietly. “I’m just… I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Your old Padawan regards you and you know what he sees as he nods against your palm and you let him go. He sees a mother, a sister, family.

You can only hope that he knows you feel the same way. Your son, your brother, the one thing left you know you can rely on.

“I know. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“You could never,” you assure with a gentle sigh and when he looks at you with that hope in his eyes, it reminds you torturously of Obi-Wan when they still had hopes for their own future. Together. _Together_. The word aches everywhere. “You know you could tell me anything, Anakin, and I would never care for you less.” Anakin’s expression flickers and your eyebrows twitch together before he gives you a tiny, boyish grin.

“Of course. And you, as well. I _am_ here for you, Master.”

You give him a plastic facsimile of a smile before squeezing his elbow. “I know. Come on. The Council is waiting.”

.

They send you to a warm moon that reminds you of Naboo. Yavin 4, outer rim. 

At least it isn’t Hoth, or Maker forbid, Alzoc III.

There’s a Separatist chapter lodging in the jungles of the moon, causing enough trouble to warrant the Jedi’s attention.

You think your old Master notices your distracted disposition and sent you somewhere easy to work out whatever’s bothering you with a good droid slicing. Master Windu has always been attuned to your emotions, long before everything with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan happened. It’s why you were his Padawan.

He had sensed the darkness in you the moment he first saw you, or maybe he foresaw it. 

You don’t know.

You land your starfighter in the brush where it’ll stay hidden enough before jumping out and landing in the soft dirt quietly. You’ve shed Jedi robes for a sleeker outfit more fitted for the jungles. With tan sleeveless tunic tucked into darker brown pants, your boots shift in the soil as you skirt into the fronds and head in the direction of the fortress.

There is nothing complicated about this. 

It’s arduous, yes. Dangerous, monumentally. But it isn’t complicated. Training Anakin is more complicated than destroying a Separatist branch. Deciding between sleeping in Obi-Wan’s quarters or your own when they were just mere Padawans was a harder choice than deciding whether or not you swing left first or right. 

It’s all instinct, second-nature and nearly your first. Soon, the fortress stops screaming from blaster fire and droid whining. You slash the head off the last droid, let its head roll at your feet and whirl around when you sense another presence behind you.

And there he stands again, a ghost you can’t shake.

It disrupts you to your very core. There is the smell of smoking metal and something worse as he tilts his head, amused. You clip your saberstaff with a practiced twirl, kicking a droid’s head away with a swift swing of your boot. 

He’s leaning against the wall, all sleek and handsome, you’re sweating with oil smeared across your cheek.

How romantic.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“And I knew you just couldn’t stay away,” he retorts. “I wasn’t aware you’d be here until I heard you destroying those poor droids.” His voice is dripping with scathing sarcasm. “My, my, Jedi, you’re a sight.”

Joining him by the wall, you tentatively lean back against it as he turns onto his shoulder, regards you with a keen interest.

“You’re infuriating,” you admit quietly, refusing to look at him. You instead stare at the black leather of his boots, the way he’s crossed his legs at the ankles as he did when he was still by your side. Just more proof Obi-Wan’s there, torturing you with those tiny glimpses. “Why were you here?”

“There’s a factory here, over in Massassi Valley. I arrived to check in on their progress before I was alerted of a gorgeous Jedi with a yellow saber. Hm.” Your eyes flutter to his face and he smiles faintly. “Three forms.”

“You noticed.”

“How could I not, dearest?” He pushes off the wall with a smirk and, against your own will, a smile begins to pull at your lips insistently. “You’re just oh, so talented.”

Stubbornly ignoring the twitch, you follow him. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh, I apologize. Sentinel, then. Formalities, and such.”

“And I know you didn’t mean that apology.” They step over a droid body and make their way through the fortress, following the trail of droid bodies. You’ve rigged the place to explode and you know you could leave him to rot if you wanted but…

But he wants something from you, and if you can convince him to give you the Sith Lord without something in exchange—

“And I still wish to talk to you about our negotiation. We never finished before someone lost her temper.”

“Don’t test me, Obi-Wan. I don’t need to remind you the importance of warming up before a battle,” you warn and he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of a laugh, and your smile grows as you lower your head, trying to hide it away from him. “And I think losing my temper is fair when I’m around such atrocious company.”

“Oh, now I know you aim to wound me.”

“Am I hitting my mark?”

“Not even close.”

Jumping over the railing of the building, they traverse in silence up a short hill before you turn around and pull out the detonator. With a simple press of a button, it goes up in flames and debris, caving in from the inside out and destroying any droid not alerted already by your little dance with your saber. 

Job done. And there’ll be a million more like it in differing sizes and magnitudes. Dropping the detonator to your feet, you smash it to bits with a sharp stomp.

How many more factories can they blow up? How many droids can they kill?

All of it means nothing if you don’t kill the mastermind behind it all.

Eyes closing, you curse whatever deity pulls the strings and tell yourself that it’s just what you have to do. There are no clean hands in war. Just dirty ones and dirtier ones.

So be it.

Turning to Obi-Wan, your eyes flutter from his dark robes to his face.

“You wanted my attention, you have it.” His eyes squint a bit at your choice of words and you lift your chin up, refusing to back down in his overwhelming confidence. “Talk.”

“Now you want to listen to me?”

“Don’t waste my time.” Your boots shift in the soft dirt, leaves bending beneath the ball of your feet and you look at Obi-Wan, really get a good look at him for the first time since he’s thrusted himself back into his life. You wonder if you look at him the same way he looks at you. Then, you ponder if he notices that he stares at you like he’s seen a ghost or if he believes that no one can read him anymore.

But you still can.

You can rip the pages out of a book, but it does no good for someone who has memorized every single page and simply flips through for the memories.

“The Sith Lord, his name is Darth Sidious,” he says, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “He rules the Republic secretly, taking senators under his control with a simple word. The apprentice, on the other hand, was Count Dooku.”

“Count Dooku? The Jedi who retired.”

He nods. “The same. That is, before I killed him and took his place.”

“ _Killed_ him,” you repeat. “You killed a Jedi.”

“A Sith Lord,” he corrects.” It was of no consequence. He would’ve caused you more trouble sooner or later.” It’s the flippant way in which he speaks that sets you back as he turns to head deeper into the forest and you follow him for lack of nowhere else to go. This is the way to your starfighter, something he seems to realize.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t just _say_ that.“

“How many times do I need to remind you that—“

“Well, I refuse to use that name.” You plant yourself right in front of him and his eyes widen, eyebrows rising as he looks up at you. Clenching your jaw, you wish you could somehow reach into him, pull the Obi-Wan you know out so you could just _hold_ him again— “It’s cursed, and wretched, and _wrong._ ”

“This again?” He tries to walk around you but you grab his arm. He freezes, rigid, under your grip and you try to pull him back.

“You know I’m right. You only correct me when I start questioning your morality—something I thought Sith don’t exactly doubt.” Your eyes narrow. “I thought you all believed you were evil and _relished_ in it.”

When he rips his arm out of your grip, he tears a piece of you with him. “Don’t make me regret my decision to come to you.”

“Regret it, then. See if I care.” You start to walk back down to the wreckage of the building and you hear a loud sigh.

“Where _are_ you going?”

“Anywhere where the air isn’t tainted with your presence. I’m not wasting my time when there is a war going on.”

“Tainted?” His voice rises as he walks down the hill after you. “If I was aware that the Jedi have made you so marvellously childish, I wouldn’t have come at all.” Stopping in your tracks, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead and you whip around, pinning him with a glare.

“What do you mean _come_? You said you were here already.” Before you know it, his mouth opens to argue but no words come out and you _know_ you’ve caught him.

So you get under his skin as much as he gets under yours.

Good.

“You were _following_ me.”

Dryly: “An astute observation. Now, will you help me kill a Sith Lord or not?” He stops in front of you and you tilt your head. His lips are twisted in an impatient scowl as you look over your shoulder at the ruins of the Separatist chapter.

Then, you cross your arms and sit down on the hill. You glance up at him, cock your head as a silent invitation for him to sit next to you. The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, painting the sky a wondrous purple-orange. When you look at Obi-Wan, the orange ignites the gold in his eyes and sets his hair aflame. He stares out at the sky, legs crossed and hands on his lap. The perfect meditation posture.

“You haven’t succumbed to the dark side, have you?” you ask quietly, voice cracking, and he blinks, looking at you.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Then, his eyes are on the sky again.

You search his side profile. He seems so _normal_. So… like himself. It scares you yet brings you relief.

“Never mind.” You draw your legs up to your chest, rest your arms atop your kneecaps. “The Sith Lord, Darth Sidious. He taught you… whatever it is that’s so enticing about the dark side.”

“Oh, if only you knew, dearest,” he sighs. “But yes. I’ve no interest in seeing his reign continue.”

“But… shouldn’t your goals align?” you ask, confused. “It is the goal of the Sith to destroy the Jedi.”

“Not all Jedi,” he corrects. “Perhaps some exceptions can be made.” Again, his eyes flicker to yours and your eyebrows knit together. A delicate frown mars your face. “You. Your old Padawan. You join me and together we can rule the galaxy ourselves. We could keep him because I know how much he means to you. Personally, I find him endearing.”

Shock shoots through you like cold fire. “What? _No._ No, that’s not how this works. We do this for the Republic. Not to replace one dictator with another.”

“Why not?” he laughs. “We’d have no rules, or, perhaps, it’d be by our own design. We could have the power to shape the galaxy however we wish.” He leans over. “I know you want that as much as I do. I don’t see why we shouldn’t take the Senate for ourselves.”

“Because that’s wrong! Because democracy—“

“—has worked so well?” he asks dryly. “Look at the Trade Federation. The Separatists. Your _democracy_ has failed you _twice_ in the past ten years on a scale tantamount to the largest volcano on Mustafar erupting.”

“Then we amend what goes wrong. That’s how this works. We try and try. We do it until we get it right, even if we never do.”

“That is a fool’s play.”

“I’d rather us be the fools than the king,” you snap. “At least fools know where they stand.” You get up, turn to ascend up the hill again and you dust off your pants, dirt flecking off the fabric. “As for us…” You scoff, shaking your head and you can hear him getting to his feet as well. “I can’t believe I ever humoured the idea that there could ever be an ‘ _us’_ again.”

“That idea could become reality if you would just _join_ me.” His voice is harsher than a serrated vibroblade as he falls into step beside you. You hate how easily he catches up but you refuse to acknowledge him as you stride back to your ship. “Think of it. There wouldn’t be a single thing separating us again. Not death, not the Sith, not the Code. We could finally be together. I’ve thought of nothing else since I learned that you were alive.” You bite your lip, eyes resolutely staying forward despite his words seeping into your conscious. “I know _that’s_ what you want. Without the Code, we could flaunt our love. I could _cherish_ you as you deserve, darling. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be with me, too?”

And something— _something_ about how brutally honest those words are just hits you like a speederbike and you stop in your tracks for the second time that day. Obi-Wan stops a few paces ahead and you pin him with a sorrowful stare. 

“So. _That’s_ what this is about.” You let out a short, incredulous breath. “Not… not power. Not even some delusion that you can rule the galaxy better than the Senate. You just want _me._ ”

His eyes widen before they narrow into a glare and he storms down the hill, shoves his face into your space and you swallow the rock in your throat.

“ _Yes,”_ he growls, nose-to-nose. “Is it so wretchedly inhumane of me to desire you?”

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot answer right away. 

Can’t. Won’t.

There doesn’t seem to be a difference. All you know is that you can’t breathe.

And when you remember how, all you can smell is him, feel him so close to you that you can’t imagine ever forgetting him.

“No.” The word, so fragile, so _short_ , flutters past your lips and Obi-Wan reels back like you had punched him. “No, I don’t think it’s inhumane at all to love.”

“It is _all_ I do this for,” he whispers furiously as if you hadn’t spoken, eyes searching your own. You reach to touch his tunic but he grabs your wrist so tightly that you can’t break out of it. “Let me make that very clear that it is because of _you_ that I am like this.” His lips twist into a snarl. “You haunt me and I let you because I take a sadistic pleasure in wanting what I cannot have. Do with that what you wish.”

Your heart drops into your gut as you wrench your wrist out of his grip and their eyes meet in dark, ferocious anger as they linger in the heat of it. 

Then, before you can question what he means, he draws back and all that anger, rage, _grief,_ melts to a mask of diplomacy. No tension in his face, no feeling. He’s a blank slate as he clears his throat, regards you with an impassive gaze that somehow hurts more than his ire.

“If you do intend to help me,” he finally says icily, “join me on Coruscant. You will receive specific details on your terminal.” 

Shaken, you watch him disappear into the jungle. Your legs give in before you can follow and as you fall to your hands and knees, you wonder if you cry for him and the fate you’ve tied him to or cry for yourself and the guilt that begins to eat you alive.

.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely. As for the Council hearing, that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Thank you, Padmé, and it wasn’t, but… we made it through. What’s done is done when you’re dealing with the Sith. Now that we found the name of the Sith Lord, maybe we can narrow down our serach.”

“Master Windu must be pleased with your work.”

“Have you met him? Nothing pleases him. Ever.” You sip on your tea politely but it tastes like nothing on your tongue. Padmé frowns faintly at your tone, not besmirching her beauty in the slightest as Anakin walks in. Looking up, you set down your cup. “Anakin.”

“Ahsoka told me I could find you both here. What are you doing on the terrace?” he asks with a glance at you, then a softer one at the Senator. Concern masks his features. “It’s cold at night.”

“You know, sometimes ladies need moments to ourselves,” Padmé teases, standing. You lean back into your chair, watching in amusement at the way Anakin’s expression completely melts when she walks past him. If he couldn’t be _any_ more obvious. “How’d the research go?”

“Fine. Ahsoka asked me something that I couldn’t answer so I just wanted to ask you about it, Master.”

“Me?” You sit up. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“Well, she heard of a name and it was before my time, so I thought you could help.”

“Calling her old when you want something, Ani?” Padmé calls from inside as she sets something down on the table. You get up yourself, letting the droids take care of their dishes as you join your friend inside. “Now, that’s classy.”

Stifling a laugh, you enter the apartment and glance over your shoulder at your old Padawan learner. “Ask.”

“Well, she was looking through the libraries and came upon a name. It’s popped up in our database now that we know the name of the Sith Lord. The Rule of Two demands an apprentice, and if we’re right, it could be him.” Your heart drops in your throat as you sit down and Anakin clasps his hands behind his back. His eyes are solemn, his lips set in a frown. Padmé’s eyes rest on you in concern and you know that your silence is just as troubling as anything.

“What name?” you ask, so quietly you’re not sure you’re audible. 

“He was a Padawan at the same time as you, Master.” Your throat tightens and you pray to the Maker he doesn’t say what you think he will— “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He simply… _disappeared._ Not even the Council could trace him.”

“Anakin…”

“Did you know him?” Padmé asks curiously and your eyes dart to her.

“I did. He was… he was my best friend. His disappearance…” _Broke me. Killed me. What else is there to say?_ “It was a great loss to the Order. He was the best of us. I wasn’t even aware that he was alive.” The silence that follows nearly chokes you and you sweep your gaze from Anakin to Padmé until you realize you can no longer bare their interrogating stares. Standing, you bow to the Senator and excuse yourself. “Goodnight, Senator. Forgive me but the war means little sleep for me. I must meditate on this.”

“Goodnight,” Padmé calls, the frown evident in her voice as you turn, leaving the apartment as quickly as you can.

You reach the elevator and step on just as Anakin catches up to you and you flash him a false smile, stepping aside to make room for him beside you. He lets out a breath, glancing at you. The doors close and he looks at the buttons, clasping his hands in front of himself before pressing the ground floor just as you did with a decisiveness one can’t fake.

That Skywalker swagger. Must be.

He steps back into line beside you. “Are you alright?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In all my years under your tutelage, I’ve never seen you so affected. You’re steadfast, Master.”

“Did I miss ‘Compliment Your Elders Day’ in the calendar?”

A scowl. “And you deflect with sarcasm.”

“As all the best do.”

“Master.”

“ _Anakin,”_ you censure. “I’ll be fine. It is you who can confide in me, not the other way around.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair,” he replies stubbornly. “I hardly know anything about you and I’ve known you far longer than I haven’t.”

“Oh, that makes me feel great about myself.” The sarcasm drips through your words. “We work well together, Anakin. That’s all that’s mattered.”

“Whether we work well together or not isn’t the point. I’ve know you for years and you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”

“Well, you know I was born on Corellia. I like flying. You know how I fight, which is far more intimate than most people know me,” you list off the top of my head. “You know how I take my caff, that I drink often, even though unofficially, the Jedi don’t condone excess consumption of alcohol.” At Anakin’s skeptical gaze, you sigh. “Look, it’s not just you I refuse to speak of it to. No one except the Council knows about Obi-Wan. He’s… he’s not supposed to _exist_ , in a figurative sense. He was supposed to be wiped from the databases.” Anakin’s expression scrunches up in confusion and you drop your gaze. “There was a situation. It was handled, but there was a whole mess that came along with it. A Jedi died—“

“I saw. Ahsoka showed me the death certificate of a Master Qui-Gon Jinn a few days after Obi-Wan Kenobi’s recorded documentation regarding him leaving the order. The reports speak of a mission with you and Master Windu, as well as Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.” Hearing the Jedi’s name makes your guts twist and you look up at the elevator lights signifying their level. They still have so far to go. “What happened that day?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Master, trust me. You know me better than anyone. If Obi-Wan Kenobi _is_ the Sith Apprentice we’re searching for—“

“Anakin, I am _warning_ you. Do not mention Obi-Wan’s name again.” Your cold tone knocks him off and you know it’s because you never use that tone against him. You instantly regret your words and you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Chewing your lip, an apology already works its way into your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

The doors open at last and you begin to leave.

“I’m starting to sense he was more than your friend, Master,” Anakin murmurs, grabbing your forearm, stalling you, and you look at him wretchedly. A mirthless smile works its way onto your face and your heart wilts in your chest as you gently pull out of his grip. Anakin’s eyes widen and you can only look at him in apology.

“Anakin… what lies between you and the Senator?” you ask and he jerks back as if you’ve slapped him. 

You might as well have as he stammers, “Nothing more than friends.”

Your smile only grows unhappily. “Then apply that ‘friendship’ to what was between Obi-Wan and I, Ani, and you have your answer.”

.

You sit on top of the building, knee jiggling as you wait. You could meditate, eat, pass the time any other way besides watching the speeders, but you don’t. You feel nauseous, cold. 

You hadn’t told anyone of your meeting here, as Obi-Wan requested and yet, you fear Master Windu might’ve caught on to your lies.

The Jedi Council actively search for the very man you’re meeting and you can’t help but feel like sniper sights are aimed at your back every time you leave your apartment.

“Hello there.”

You whip around to see a cloaked figure emerge from the shadows. Obi-Wan stands there, dressed in black and a dark bloody maroon. His hood off and his hands in open display, he stands there until you face forward again, taking that as an invitation to come closer.

“I trust you’re well?”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” you utter quietly, clasping your hands. He climbs over the railing, sits beside you on the balustrade with a quiet sigh. Their feet dangerously close to the edge of the roof, he glances at the traffic and you stare at your boots. “Let me make something very clear: I want to help, no matter your own motives. I swore to keep the peace and that is what I’ll do, but after this, our arrangement is done.” Your eyes find his and you hope the coldness in your tone is mirrored in your gaze. “I never want to see you again. Let me be a ghost and you can be mine.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curved into a handsome frown. You look back out at the skylanes.

Quiet.

He must know you mean it this time. That there is no coyness, no game—you aren’t out to play hard to get. You aren’t acting like you don’t know what you’re saying. No, you’re well, and truly, done. Sick of it. Finished. Whatever synonym that can be concocted, it is what you are. Even if you do love Obi-Wan, you wish you had died that day. It would’ve been much better than this.

An odd twenty years later, and sometimes, your stomach still aches from old scars.

“Am I understood?” you finally inquire softly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s get to work.” You draw your hands up your thighs, set your spine straight and look at your new partner-in-crime. “What’s our first move?” He stares at you for a moment, pale yellow eyes searching your face, but when you merely arch an eyebrow in prompting, he blinks and pulls something out of his pocket.

“Well, considering my Master hasn’t recognized that I intend to murder him in cold blood yet, we must move quickly. Have you deduced who Darth Sidious is?” You look at him and he sighs. “Who has always rubbed you the wrong way, no matter what everyone else said?”

You roll that question over in your head for a moment. “I’ve never liked how Chancellor Palpatine has attached himself to Anakin,” you confess. “If anyone, he’s painted himself the saviour of the Republic and the Council don’t trust him.”

“For once, the Council is right.” You frown at his bitter tone. “And your intuition never fails.”

“So the Sith Lord is Chancellor Palpatine, the most well-guarded man in the galaxy.”

“Yes.”

“And you do realize that a Jedi killing him portrays a certain… image, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know. I’ll do it. What I need is for you to get me access to his rooms.” Eyebrows shooting up, you rest your chin on your clasped hands, your elbows digging into your knees. “You said it yourself: your old Padawan learner is off mingling with the Supreme Chancellor himself. I assume you’re close with the Skywalker boy.”

“I am.”

“He’s powerful in the Force, that one,” he comments.

Quietly: “I know.” Sighing, your eyes find Obi-Wan’s. “So you want me to manipulate Anakin to let us in.”

“Manipulate is a strong word.”

“Didn’t realize you had such an aversion to using people to your own means.” The light of the city reflects off his eyes, cloaking his face in half light, half shadow. It only amplifies the arrogance of his smirk, the arrogant cock of his eyebrow. Your gut clenches and your thighs press together as he leans over.

“I have a strong, _strong_ inclination for the consensual, darling.”

“So witty, as always,” you breathe. “As if the last time we spoke had no consequence.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. Not for me at least. For _you_ , on the other hand…” He clicks his tongue. “I can feel the guilt inside you, twisting your every thought.” He chuckles. ”It’s funny, really.”

“My torture is your amusement?”

“Ah, no, never,” he corrects. “It’s a bitter delight that you never realized your hand in all of this. This situation, this war, this… conundrum of the heart. It’s… sick,” he acknowledges, “but after years of my own guilt consuming me, it’s almost… comforting to see you suffering like me.”

Your gut convulses at his words. “You think I didn’t suffer in your absence? That I didn’t dream of you every night for years?” His eyes study your face that begins to crumble underneath his stare. 

“I think we are alike in our agony.” He flips the device he pulled out earlier over in his hands, activating it with a simple press of a button. “Do you know why I want to kill the Chancellor?” A soft voice begins to emit for the device and he hands it over to you with a faint smile. “Take it.”

“What will you do? Spin your tragic tale?” you inquire without any bite. You mean it—tales are tragic when it comes to their lives so interwoven with one another and as they sit on the edge of the balcony, overlooking a city still alive despite the war raging, the night edging in on all sides, you hold the device to your ear and swallow when you hear Darth Sidious’ voice, vile and old. It sends a shiver up your spine.

_“She hangs in the balance, young one. Join me, and I will ensure that she lives.”_

“A tragic tale,” he echoes. “Yes, perhaps it is.”

The recording scratches, skips forward. _“She’s dead, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry for your loss but you can avenge her. Use that lust for vengeance for more than grieving a girl dead before her time.”_

You lower the device from your ear. You don’t want to hear any more of his manipulations. Those brief glimpses had been enough to make your stomach churn. “You don’t need to say any more.”

“He cloaked you from me. For years, I kept seeing your eyes,” he continues distantly. He leans forward on his knees, almost leaning into the wind and you clutch onto the cylindrical device tighter. “I remembered what it felt like, feeling your lifeforce ebb and disappear by my hand.”

“But you found me,” you try and he chuckles darkly, looking out at the skylanes. Two speeders nearly collide and his lips twitch into a mirthless grin.

“Indeed. When I was looking for the boy.”

“Anakin?”

“Hm.” He looks at you again. “The Chancellor wants to replace me with him now that he’s all grown.” Then, his eyes drift, rich in drive, zeal, the spirit of a warrior, the soul of a man who refuses to falter. “I suppose that’s another reason why it’s time to deposit the tyrant. I don’t intend to die so easily.”

In a moment of irrational, or perhaps even lack of, thought, you reach for his clasped hands and hold onto him. He doesn’t rip himself away immediately and in fact, his eyes seem to fixate onto yours deeply as you slip your hand between his.

“I’ll be there,” you promise him, not daring to look away, not wanting to for a second. It isn’t the most romantic thing in the world—you could’ve promised that you’d protect him, that he won’t die because you’re there, that he won’t ever be harmed again, that ‘ _it’ll be okay_ ’—but you’ve always been practical, just as Obi-Wan was. _Is_. The only thing you can offer is the truth: “You won’t be alone.”

Then, he lifts one of his hands and rests his palm on your knuckles, and your heart, thudding like thunder in your chest, hitches. You suck in a cold, clear breath and squeeze his hand gently.

“Thank you.” His fingers brush over your skin and electricity dances up your arm as he watches you softly, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. The gauzy glow of Coruscant softens his features and a shuddering sigh leaves your lungs as he leans forward.

It’s a moment where you think _no, I shouldn’t, I can’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t_ before your heart, screaming to meet his, shuts up whatever rational voice echoes in your head and you close the distance. The instant their lips meet, a hand lifts from yours and shoots to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You set down the device blindly, holding onto his neck. Their hands spring apart and your other hand rakes through his hair, fingers twisting in auburn locks as he holds your face, burns himself into your mouth. 

You barely remember when your eyes closed. 

All you know is that the smell of him, the taste, it’s all so familiar yet there is the hint of something darker, smokier leading you deeper into his influence. One of his hands spreads across your neck, thumb brushing over the front of your throat and the underside of your jaw as you scoot closer towards him and he chuckles, nose wrinkling at your insistent kisses but submitting all the same.

Your mind is blank, razor-focused on one thing and you don’t even remember your own name before your lungs screech for air and you suck in a deep breath through your nose, tearing yourself away despite their lips nearly refusing to part. Your mouth opens and inhale sharply, hands pulling through his hair. His chin tilts up and you blink, looking at him through the fuzzy dots in your vision and the gleam of his golden eyes, arrogance and tenderness in its very definition, douses you in cold water. 

Jerking back, your hand flies to your lips, fingers brushing where he had claimed you moments before. Your thoughts are a scattered whirlwind and you swallow. Your breaths come rapid, your heart beating everywhere at once as you spin around, climbing over the balcony and back towards solid ground. Obi-Wan twists, confusion marring his face as he gets up and you whirl around. You feel like he’s set you on fire after a long winter left out to the elements and you’re incinerating. 

You’re burning from the inside out. You’re thirsty, yearning for something to feast on. Your fingers itch to rip off clothes, slash apart a droid, do anything to work out the energy that’s beginning to fizzle in your chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whisper, voice cracking, and you look up at him forlornly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why not?”

“Because— _because_ —“ Yet with every second, you find your logic failing as you look at him. His hair is dishevelled—your doing—and he runs a hand through the golden strands as he waits for your answer but you’re starting to think you don’t have one.

After all, no one will ever know besides them.

That’s what you told yourself when they were Padawans. You fail to think of any difference now.

Obi-Wan stands there expectantly and your hands rake over your head, glancing around. There is no one but the sound of late-night traffic and the night.

Eyes sliding shut, you feel something inside you give like a fragile foundation finally slipping in the sand. 

His kiss is like a toxin, still scorching through you, and something inside you tightens as you open your eyes again and see him standing there, expression so much like the old Obi-Wan that your heart aches.

Your hand drops. You look at Obi-Wan in his dark robes, and decide.

You can’t take it anymore. You will love a ghost. You’d rather do that than die lonely.

Walking over to him with a decisiveness you feel like you’ve lost since he’s crashed into your life, you take Obi-Wan’s face in your hands and pull him into your kiss. 

He kisses back immediately, his hands finding your jaw and your eyes squeeze shut as your hands slide down his neck, find his shoulders and their lips meet again and again, drunk off the mere touch of their bodies. You find the buckle of his belt, undoing it with ease and the _clank_ of his lightsaber hitting the ground along with the rest of the leather makes you grin against his persistent mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth before nudging your chin up with his nose. His hands slide down your shoulders, hooking on your robes and sliding them down your arms with a slow, seductive intention that sends shivers up your spine. 

Letting your arms drop, you let him guide the robe to a pool around your feet before breaking the kiss to look down at your belt but he grabs your jaw, tilting your head up and their mouths slot together again. With his free hand, he undoes the buckle with practiced ease and your lightsaber joins his on the ground before they sink to the floor in unison, their knees against cold stone, their lips never parting. A fire scorches between their mouths and you know that you have never felt more at home than the moment Obi-Wan’s hands find your waist.

His hand slides to the small of your back, scooping you up and lying you flat against the pavement as you find the waist of his trousers, tugging down insistently. Their breaths mix in desperation as their foreheads press together. Their lips part just enough for you to look down and he kisses your brow, your cheeks, cranes his head to find your ear as you run your hands over the front of his pants, feel something warm and hard against your palm.

A quivering sigh against your neck makes your stomach flutter as the hand on your back slides to your hip, squeezing the flesh there. Boots sliding along the ground, you let out a tiny whimper when soft lips suck on the flesh of your throat, teasing you with tiny nips. His hand goes under your long tunic, finding the hem of your trousers and a warm index finger traces the rim, tip gently brushing along the sliver of bare skin there.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your hands trail up his sides and wrap around his back. 

Their foreheads are still pressed together when his eyes flicker from your body to your face.

“Are you sure?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Yes. I’m—I’m sure.”

“Stop me. Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his cold skin meets the warm flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve never been afraid of you, Obi-Wan,” you murmur achingly, eyes beginning to sting. His eyes flash to yours and you smile to yourself, slithering a hand to his face and cupping his jaw. Your thumb brushes over his lips. “Even after all this time, I’ve only loved you until I’ve hated you and… I have never stopped caring about you. I became a Jedi in your honour, you know? I did what I thought you would’ve done, because you are _good,_ Obi. I know it.” You tilt his head against yours. Their noses clash and their lips brush, and you can’t help but close your eyes as your fingers card through his hair. “You’re still in there and I will never be afraid of you, but I am afraid for your future. For ours.”

“Ours?” he echoes and you nod against him.

“Ours.”

“What—what do you mean?”

There it is. That split-second of hopefulness in his voice, the sound of the first sun after the darkest winter. You’d give anything to pull the sun out of the shadows. Even the Jedi Order.

“Ours if we make it through this. Ours when I renounce the Code and join you.” Curling your fingers in his hair, you feel your heart splinter into two, wilt like a flower in the winter rain and when the first droplet lands against your nose, you know he’s struggling to hold his tears in. 

Your eyes open. Pressing a brief, soft kiss against his mouth, you gently brush his tears away. 

“I will leave the Order for you if you leave the Sith for me. When we kill the Chancellor, we will disappear and live the life we deserve. That’s what scares me.” His eyes search yours and you smile, his beard tickling at your palms. He raises his arms until his elbows are by your head and he props himself up, lacing his fingers atop your head and shielding you from the world. His body pressed against yours, you can’t help the tentative smile on your face.

“Why?”

“Because we’re so close to it,” you tell him. “Because, for the first time, it seems so real. We’re just within reach.” You sigh, studying his face, his scar, the shape of his eyebrows. All tiny things, yet they mean the world to you.

“What happened to never seeing me again?” he asks in a faux smug airiness and you wrinkle your nose, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sniff, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes but when you look at Obi-Wan, you swear you can see the first hint of blue in his eyes. The first hint of day breaking through the night.

“A kiss or two changed my mind.” You tilt your head to the night, letting the bracing wind take your tears away. You think nothing of this night has been romantic, from what’s been said to what’s happening now.

Yet, you wouldn’t change a thing from this.

You’d rather have this mess than a fantasy—have this broken man silently letting tears slip down his face than anything else.

Tears smeared all over his cheeks, Obi-Wan sniffs and tries to clear his throat but fails miserably as you draw your hand across his face. He cradles your face in one of his own hands, swiping a thumb beneath your eye and you smile.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely, quietly, and you lift your head up to kiss him softly, again, assuredly. “Please. Please don’t wake me up.”

“I’m alive, don’t worry. This isn’t a dream.” You tilt your chin up to kiss between his eyebrows and the delicate scrunch of his brow makes you warm. “And I love you, too.” His hands holding your face begin to tremble as if he’s afraid that one moment, you will disappear like a ghost but you let your hands drop, press palms against his knuckles so that he steadies and smile up at Obi-Wan. “I’m here.”

“So many of my nightmares end like this.” His voice breaks as he ducks his head into your chest, forehead to your heartbeat. “I don’t want to wake up. I never do.” You wonder if he hears the distinct shattering of your heart at his words.

Folding your fingers over the spaces between his, you draw his hands away from your face and press a long kiss to his fingers.

His grip only tightens as he lifts his head again and rests it on your shoulder. Their hands part only for you to wrap your arms around his chest and for his to bend around your head again, sheltering you from the world around them. 

The traffic is quieter now, nothing but your heart and his beating in tandem and the soft breaths that come only after tears are shed. His weight is suffocatingly warm and you bury your face into his neck, let his beard tickle at your eyes. 

“This is real, Obi-Wan.”

You never want to leave him again.

.

“Anakin, let me begin by saying that you _cannot_ interrupt me in the middle of me talking.”

“Do you think I’m six?”

A levelling look. A loud sigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t interrupt you.”

“You better not.” You slip your hands into your sleeves, perching on the balustrade of Padmé’s balcony. It’s the only place you can think of that you trust to be completely absent of eavesdroppers. “First: Obi-Wan’s alive.”

Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up and he frowns faintly. “I thought we established that.”

“And I know for certain he is the Sith apprentice we’re searching for.” Guiltily, you lower your eyes to the ground as Anakin approaches, the frown ever growing. ”I met with him. Multiple times, actually.”

“Master—“

“He came to me first,” you say, holding up a hand. “I didn’t know until he came to me and I met him again on Yavin 4. Again, he followed me there.”

“Sounds like you have a fan.”

Sending him a wry look, you sit upright. “Funny. But I met him two nights ago.” _Because all of yesterday was spent in my own apartment, trying to reconcile the possibility of a future with the man I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen. But that’s neither here nor there._ “He told me what he wanted.”

“Which is?”

“Anakin…” You raise your gaze to your old apprentice and sigh, standing up. A thoughtful expression is etched onto his face. At times, you can’t help but think maybe you should’ve exercised or demonstrated more patience with him. It seemed like you only exacerbated his natural proclivity for recklessness. Other times, like now, you think you did a pretty damn good job. “Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord we are searching for.”

Anakin’s countenance drops and his mouth opens, trying to argue but you quickly continue.

“No one can know better than his apprentice,” you tell him. Reaching out for his shoulder, a cold feeling settles in your gut when Anakin jerks out of your reach, brushing past you with a stony expression. “Anakin—“

“How do we know you can trust this Obi-Wan?” he points out. “He could easily be using you, manipulating you to get what he wants.” Turning to watch him go, your eyebrows knit together. “Master, whatever you think he feels for you, he could be _lying._ ”

That stings. It stings more than you thought it would and you saw it coming from miles away.

“Have you not stopped to consider the same thing applies to the Chancellor? Anakin, I know you and the Council have never seen eye-to-eye regarding your relationship with Palpatine, but Obi-Wan isn’t lying.”

“How do you know?” he repeats.

“I just do.”

“That’s not good enough! Have you told anyone else about this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, great. So we’re going off the Sith Lord’s apprentice’s lead. That’s real trustworthy.”

“Anakin, if you don’t trust him, trust _me._ ”

“I do trust you, Master. I’m just afraid that your mind is clouded.” Anakin’s eyes meet yours and a lightning current shoots down your spine at the graveness in his face. He looks much older than his years and you’re more than aware that the longer this war continues, the more exhausted they both will be. 

“Anakin…” Then, you remember the weight of his secret. You wonder if that adds to it—if the burden of carrying the love for a certain senator drags him by the ankles. You understand that. You just wish Anakin knew that you would understand.

“I’m sorry, Master, but what does he want? This can’t be out of the goodness of his heart.”

“He wants to kill the Chancellor. That’s it. The Republic won’t fall beneath the weight of this war.”

“That’s it? That can’t be right. He must want something in return—“

“In return, I leave the Jedi Order,” you cut him off quickly, trying to rip the band-aid off. It doesn’t work because the colour drains from Anakin’s face and your heart wilts in your chest. Regret knots in your chest as he walks up to you and opens his mouth to argue, hands reaching for your shoulders. You raise your hands, stopping him. “It’s a done deal. I’m leaving on my own accord.”

“Master… you _can’t._ You can’t just—“

“You and I both know it’s more than possible,” you shoot back. Your words come out cold, flat, and you wish he could’ve found out any other way, but life is rarely, if ever, perfect. Anakin’s blue eyes search your face for answers you do not have and it must be something in how you say it but realization soon dawns upon him.

“You love him.”

“He loves me, too,” you reply quietly. “It is, I assume, not dissimilar to how you feel for Padmé.” You smile faintly and reach up, cupping his face. “I’ve never been blind to that, Anakin.” Sputtering, your old friend tries to come up with some excuse but you merely shake your head. “Once this war is over, Obi-Wan and I will leave Coruscant. That was our deal. And we need your help to do it.”

“My help?” The words come out strangled and you nod. “How?”

“The Chancellor trusts you. Get us into his office, and we will do the rest. You can leave the room, deny responsibility, do whatever you need to. The Council must not connect you to this.”

“But—“

“Anakin, you have the potential to be a _great_ Jedi Master, if not the greatest. With my spot on the Council opening up, who knows? Your part in this may push you in the right direction.” Glossy azure eyes fix on yours and you hold Anakin’s face in your hands before resting your palms on his shoulders. “I’m more than willing to do this if it means this war ends and don’t worry. You’ve grown into a great Jedi. Greater than any other I’ve known. There’s no more I can teach you that you won’t learn yourself.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, Master.”

“It’ll _always_ feel like that. We never stop learning, but that’s how life is. Don’t worry.” You squeeze his shoulders. “There won’t ever be a goodbye between us, Ani. Only a temporary parting.”

“But you’re leaving.” And just like that, he is nine again and you are twenty-five, crouching in front of a young blond boy from Tatooine as you tell him you will be his Master, prove your own Master wrong. Newly made Knight and desperate to please, you were determined to give Anakin a life he didn’t have to worry about never seeing his mother again, nor money, nor hunger. Pain, anger, fear.

You know you failed.

Still, you tried. That, you decide, must count for something.

“And you are staying. I have never, _never,_ wanted to leave you Anakin, but I believe in you. I know you are the change the Order needs and if I can’t be here to see it…” You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe one day. One day we will return and I will see you as the Master I know you can be.”

A weak attempt of a smile on Anakin’s part.

“I’d welcome you back with open arms, Master. No matter what.” 

You force a grin onto your own face and pull him into your arms. Immediately, he embraces you and you hold him tight, eyes closing. His face buries into your neck and you cradle the back of his head like you did when he was younger, a boy tainted by nightmares, and you know soon, you won’t be able to do this again. Hug your family… hug someone who has become your son when he’s scared.

“I’ll help you,” he finally whispers into your shoulder and your arms tighten around him. His voice may be muffled but it doesn’t manage to stop the everflowing sadness. “Just tell me when and where and I will be there.”

“Okay.” You draw back and hold his face in your hands, smiling still. Your eyes refuse to shed the tears burning there so instead, you just… stand in his presence for a moment longer until they have to part.

.

“Darling.” Obi-Wan stands when he spots you approaching their meeting spot on the roof again and you stop in front of him, pulling your hood down. “And your old Padawan?”

“He’ll help,” you murmur. “He’ll alert us through the comlink when he’s in position, then this assassination attempt will go through.” Disgust curls at your tongue and you shake your head. “I still don’t like this plan.”

“Why?”

“Because it seems too easy.” You cross your arms over your chest. “We just go in there, you cut off his head, and what? How do you explain this death? The fallout of this will be torrential.” Looking out over the city, you sigh. “What will we say?”

“Say that I was his assassin,” Obi-Wan says, joining you near the edge of the roof. “The Jedi tried to stop me but were too late.”

“That still paints us as failures.”

“Then what will you have me do? There is no alternative that doesn’t paint the Order as murderers. I know _that_ isn’t what you want.” His eyebrows rise. “Is it?”

You scowl. ”No.” Thinking, you add on, “Couldn’t we say we struck you down? Eliminate the threat all together.” Eyes lighting up, you look at Obi-Wan. His eyes, a strange mixture of gold swirling with blue, squint in confusion. “Obviously, you won’t actually be dead, but I think people won’t think twice looking at you if you’re supposed to be dead. The Jedi Council said so.” 

Realization: “Ah. Faking my death.”

You nod. “Exactly. If we settle on some planet and someone recognizes you, well, that’s impossible. You’re dead. The Jedi are very rarely wrong.”

“You’re quite clever, you know.”

“It’s honestly a wonder you haven’t thought of it yourself,” you reply. He smirks and you roll your eyes as he gently takes your shoulders and places a tender kiss upon your forehead. Something inside you melts at the touch. His nose presses into your scalp and their eyes close before you pull back and take hold of his hand. He’s warm to the touch.

Raising your other hand to flit over the scar crossing his face, you feel the sunken edges carefully. His eyes flutter shut and you run over his nose. It’s caused a small chasm in the structure of his face but you find that you can’t fault him for it. It’s become a part of him—a mark of his history. It may be a mistake in some eyes—not fast enough, not strong enough, not _good_ enough—but to you, it’s simply a reminder that Obi-Wan is human. That he’s alive.

 _He’s alive._ You still marvel at that. “You’ll have to tell me the story of this some day.” 

He smiles and the scar stretches with it. It’s somehow endearing. “Some day,” he agrees. “As well as many others.”

“Sounds like a date.” You squeeze his hand just as the comlink beeps and you grab it from your pocket. “Anakin?”

“ _I’m ready. Ahsoka’s speaking to the Council as we do.”_

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan questions. 

“His Padawan,” you explain quickly. “Good. Keep your link on. We’ll mute ourselves from here on out.” Sending a nod to Obi-Wan, the two begin the plan. Clipping the rope to their waist, you wrap the end around a pipe, giving it an experimental tug as Obi-Wan looks over the edge of the building. Soon, they’ll be scaling down to the maintenance room and managing a way into the ventilation system.

“You know, if I thought we were speaking to the Council of this, I would’ve packed my fancy robes,” he calls dryly and you shoot him a glare to be quiet but he merely tips over the edge of the building and you suppress a groan,. The height makes you a bit woozy but you turn your back to the ground, grabbing onto the rope and slowly lowering yourself until they’re scooting down the side of the building together.

“Master Windu trusts my judgement, and better than we tell them when they can’t stop us,” you retort. Swinging out of the way of a window, the two glance at one another. “Sorry I didn’t tell about that. Didn’t think it was quite so imperative, what with the fact that we’re overthrowing a dictatorship tonight.”

“I don’t mind. At least I found out before Master Windu showed up out of the blue and decided to splice me in half for being anywhere near your vicinity.”

You barely contain a retort as they continue down.

Are you really doing this? Are you about to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor with a man you long thought dead?

 _Yes,_ a quiet voice replies, _you are._ _And then, you will run._

.

They manage to crawl into the vent, him first, you second, and you’re stuck trying to avoid staring at Obi-Wan’s ass as they inch forward towards the Chancellor’s office. It’s not the most dignified position to find a Jedi and a Sith apprentice in, but alas—one must do what they do to rid the galaxy of tyranny.

Besides, you’re pretty sure the arrogance radiating off of Obi-Wan means about a million jokes will stem from this. 

They stop when they are just above the office, Obi-Wan crawling over the tiny gap and turning around so they can both peer down the vent. You manage to unhook your saberstaff, breaking it into the two separate sabers, clutching each in tight hands as you listen in on the conversation below.

You aren’t even aware that your nails are digging into your thumbs before a gentle hand brushes over yours.

 _Relax,_ Obi-Wan’s voice orders gently in your mind. _Remember—I do all the dirty work._

 _That doesn’t omit my part in this, Obi-Wan,_ you shoot back but your fists relax anyway and his hand withdraws. Everything inside of you is tense when you hear a voice.

“Anakin, what a surprise. What brings you to my office at so late an hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you about these dreams I’ve been having. I… I trust you and I’m not sure if it’s real or not.”

_Just a little more._

_Obi-Wan, are you sure he’s the Sith Lord?_

_Why are you having doubts_ ** _now_** _of all times?_ Your eyes flash to his and he glares back. _I’m sure. I wouldn’t lie to you._

A sharp nod.

You spot Anakin’s figure approach and then the Chancellor, meeting just below and your fingers tighten around your sabers.

“What dreams?”

“Dreams of the Sith Lord that caused this war.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I believe I know who he is.”

The Supreme Chancellor’s eyes shoot up and he regards the Jedi Knight with a strange mix of confusion and suspicion.

“I’m sorry, Chancellor Palpatine.”

Anakin’s eyes flash up to the vent and Obi-Wan sends you a nod. You send your sabers into the grate, melting it off its hinges and letting the metal clamor to the ground before Obi-Wan jumps out, landing behind the Sith Lord who whirls around.

Activating his lightsaber, Obi-Wan stares at his former Master with a cruel snarl to his lips. You jump after him, twirling your yellow sabers as you stand behind him. 

The contrast is near blinding.

“General Y/L/N.” The Chancellor has never sounded more unforgiving as he looks from you to Obi-Wan. “I believe you have a job to do. Kill this assassin.” You stare at the man who’s feigned warmth and kindness to the entire galaxy and you wait for his head to start rolling but when Obi-Wan doesn’t move, frozen, knuckles white as he clutches onto his saber, your eyes dart to his form. 

“Obi-Wan,” you whisper. His gaze snaps to yours and for a moment, you don’t even _recognize_ the man behind it. His golden eyes peer at you curiously and then he twirls his saber with a practiced motion, turning back to the Chancellor.

Palpatine frowns.

The vibrating hum of another lightsaber igniting joins the buzzing symphony and Anakin raises his blue lightsaber with a harsh, cracking expression upon his handsome features. 

“By Jedi law, you must arrest me. Surely you won’t let him murder me in cold blood, Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine says, glancing back at your old Padawan and hesitation flickers across his features. “Surely your _Master_ taught you better.”

Anakin’s eyes flicker to yours. You are silent in return.

“This is _treason._ ”

“What you have done to the Republic is treason,” you correct icily. “You do not deserve the luxury of a fair trial.”

It happens so quick. Palpatine reaches into his robes and there is a flash of red before the smell of burning flesh rises. A hand drops to the floor with a sick _slap_ and a lightsaber rolls. Anakin sticks out a hand, letting the hilt fly into his hand and he deactivates it with a quick flourish as Palpatine keens over, clutching at his stump of a wrist.

Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber from the Chabcellor’s arm to his neck.

“I am finished with your manipulations, Sidious,” he murmurs lowly, and then, with one great, unfaltering swing, he decapitates the Sith Lord and lets the head roll.

There is no blood. The lightsaber burns too hot for there to be any and you can only smell the shit and piss as an old man dies.

Obi-Wan’s harsh pants are the only sound as the body drops and you deactivate your lightsabers. Anakin does the same as you step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and another on the trembling fingers that wrap so tightly around the hilt of his saber.

“Obi-Wan.” His name passes by your lips softly, like a caress, and he drags his gaze from the dead Chancellor to your face. “It’s over.” Eyes fluttering shut, he lets you pull him tight against you, their foreheads knocking together as his lightsaber deactivates with a _whomsh._

Your name passes by his lips in a soft breath and he cups your face just as doors open and he springs away from you. You grab his hand, tugging him behind you just as Master Windu and the rest of the Council walk in, and his hand tightens around yours as Anakin pivots around.

Ahsoka steps out, panting, her eyes wide.

“I tried to stop them—“

“Ahsoka, please.” You step forward, letting go of Obi-Wan’s hand but he tugs you back. Glancing at him, you smile. “Let me handle this.” His eyes search yours and you give him a nod of assurance before he finally lets go and you step towards the Council, past Anakin who wants to speak but you grab his arm gently, stopping him. “Master Windu.”

“General Y/L/N. Would you care to explain why the dead Chancellor’s body laid at your feet?”

“He was the Sith Lord orchestrating the war. Doubt there’s any other reason.” You meet your old Master’s eyes. “Master Windu, know that this is all my doing, and mine alone. Anakin had no part in this and neither did Ahsoka. She just found out and told you about our plot. I don’t want them to be punished.”

“That remains to be decided.”

“‘Our’?” Kit Fisto inquires.

You sigh, eyes fluttering to the floor. “Obi-Wan and I. It was our plot, together.”

“With the Sith, you conspired?” Yoda questions and you open your mouth to argue but you catch Ki-Adi’s shaking head and something inside you sinks.

“Look, he was manipulated. He’s not Sith. Not anymore. That man”—you point at Palpatine’s body— “was the Sith Lord we were all searching for and Obi-Wan led us straight to him.” Stone-cold silence. Your shoulders fall and the adrenaline that had burned through you drains away, leaving you oddly exhausted. “I understand if you wish to charge me with any crime against the Republic. Sedition or otherwise.”

“Obi-Wan is the one who killed the Chancellor, Master Windu. Master Y/L/N had _nothing_ —“

“Anakin, don’t,” you cut him off quietly. “It’s not worth it to pretend otherwise.”

Anakin’s frustrated glare meets yours but you only smile at him and shake your head. Facing the Council again, you wait for one of them to speak. Master Windu’s unimpressed glare goes from Palpatine to you, and you only look at your former Master with raised eyebrows. 

“What proof is there?”

“Nothing more than my memories, Master Windu, and a few recordings,” Obi-Wan speaks for the first time and eyes dart to the man as he steps forward into line with you. “I will submit those if you need them. Attempt to arrest me, however, and I will not go willingly. I’ve renounced the Jedi Order, as well as the Sith way. That, I can assure you of.”

“Master Yoda, your thoughts?” Master Windu asks, turning to the Grandmaster. A hand presses against the small of your back and you turn to Obi-Wan who watches with a stony glare. However, when he turns his gaze in towards you, something softens and you step closer to him.

“Upon the former Padawan, the dark side still lingers. Unsure of what to make of it, I am,” he admits and your hand finds Obi-Wan’s back, your other hand hovering by your lightsaber. No matter what, you are not leaving him alone in this.

“However this looks to the Republic is my greatest concern,” Ki-Adi murmurs. “To see a Jedi Master conspiring with the Sith—”

“Then manipulate the truth,” you argue. “That has never stopped the Jedi before. It didn’t stop them from completely erasing what happened twenty years ago and it can happen again.” Your hand drops from your saber and you send Master Windu a pleading look. “Say Obi-Wan was struck down, say he escaped, say anything but what happened. The only truth that needs to come out is that Chancellor Palpatine orchestrated the Clone Wars and with him gone, we might be able to find some semblance of peace again.”

The Council look at one another. Anakin and Ahsoka, standing side by side look to you.

War is rarely that simple.

.

“I forfeit every right, privilege, and rank I have achieved in the Grand Army of the Republic. I renounce my status as a Jedi Master.”

“You understood that you are barred from the Jedi Order henceforth?”

“I understand.”

Master Windu’s expression softens for his old Padawan and you could’ve sworn there was something darker, something breaking, as if he himself felt for you turning to someone else for the help he could not give.

You want to tell him it has never been his fault.

You don’t. Instead, you ask one last time for your own sanity: “And Obi-Wan? What of his records?”

A bitter, coy smile resides on his face: “Who?”

Satisfied yet curiously empty, you walk out of the Jedi Temple, to where Anakin, Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan await. There are tickets and bare necessities for them to make a fresh start in a bag slung over Obi’s shoulder. There’ll probably be a speeder waiting for them at the base of the steps, waiting to take them to their new transport arranged courtesy of the Senator of Naboo herself and then… then who knows where to next. 

You suppose that’s part of the excitement of it all.

You feel naked, stripped bare. You no longer wear the tan neutrals of the Jedi. Instead, a leather vest covers you, a shirt tucked into brown pants and paired with Obi-Wan, they look nothing more than smugglers. A cloak is draped over your shoulders and clasped at your throat, one you tug closer around yourself as you approach. 

Obi-Wan extends a hand to you and you take it numbly, letting him kiss your knuckles.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” You squeeze his hand and he nods. “Wait for me at the bottom?”

“Always.” He lets go and his eyes turn to the others. “I appreciate your aid.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” The words sound strangled coming from Anakin’s mouth. The two look at one another and you think, in another life, they could’ve been good friends. “Take care of her. Please.”

But that is not how it is now. Instead, Obi-Wan merely dips his head again, once to Anakin, and then to Padmé and Ahsoka before climbing down the steps of the Jedi Temple.

You watch him go until he is out of sight, your eyes lingering even after, before you turn around to feel Ahsoka launching herself into your arms. Eyebrows shooting up, you embrace the Padawan tightly, eyes closing shut and then two more bodies pile in closely.

Shaggy hair and floral scents—Anakin and Padmé.

“I’m going to miss you all so much,” you whisper, raising a hand to cradle the back of Anakin’s head and another to hold onto Padmé’s shoulder. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

“If it’s anything close to how much you mean to us, I might have some idea,” Padmé says. She kisses your cheek, a tiny blush on her cheeks. “Stay safe, Y/N.”

“I will. And you, too. Make sure this one over here protects you,” you say with a sharp nudge to Anakin who winces, running a hand through his hair with a brash grin. Ahsoka, with her arms still around you, looks up and you rest a hand on her shoulder. “And you, little one, make sure you take care of your Master. He’s a lot. Make sure he’s not too in over his head.”

Ahsoka laughs much to Anakin’s irritation and even Padmé breaks a smile, poking the Knight teasingly. “I promise, Master.”

“I think,” you correct with a sombering smile, “that you should get used to calling me Y/N. I’m not a Jedi Master anymore.” Ahsoka’s expression falters and you squeeze her closer, cradling her head against you. Anakin’s downcast face catches your eye and you look up at him, finding blue eyes watching.

“You will always be my greatest teacher,” Anakin murmurs. “I just wish there was another way.”

“But there isn’t, and I’ll miss you more than you know, Ani,” you reply. “You will never fail to make me proud.” Letting go of Ahsoka, you reach forward, hugging him tightly once again. His arms wrap around you and he seems to sink against your frame, shoulders dropping, head buried into the crook of your neck and you close your eyes, knowing the torment that rips him in two. Patting his hair, you let him hold you as long as he needs to. 

It’s not until Padmé touches his arm gently that he remembers to pull away and you cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. Then, looking into his face, a face you’ve seen everyday for the past decade and now a face you don’t know for how long you’ll have to wait until you see again, you can feel two hands take your heart and tear it like paper, into uncountable bits. 

Tilting his head down, you press a kiss to his brow. Then, with one final squeeze to Padmé’s hand and a squish of Ahsoka’s cheeks which she takes only because you don’t know when they will see each other again, you pull away. 

“I’ll be okay, guys.” Trying to joke, you force one last smile upon your face. “You can at least _look_ like you’ll see me again.”

“We’ll see you again,” Ahsoka decides. “The Force wills it so.”

“I hope it does.”

You pull your hood over your head and turn around, descending down the steps and leaving your old life behind.

.

They nestle between two ginormous crates. The captain’s paid to turn a blind eye in exchange that they take up minimal space and don’t cause problems. That’s easy for them—they’re heading to Tatooine and from then, who knows? Maybe somewhere cooler, wetter, snowier. They’ll decide when they want to.

You rip apart a piece of bread and hand it over to Obi-Wan, resting your head on his shoulder. Your arm is looped through his and he takes your offering, swishing it down with spotchka. You chew on your own piece, their fingers interlacing and their boots knock together playfully.

For some reason, it makes you feel like a Padawan again—stealing moments, sharing secret smiles. In the darkness only fractured by a sliver of white light, the two are lost in each other’s eyes. 

Raising your head from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, you look at his side profile again, the sharp lines of his jaw, the fine ginger-blonde of his beard. His nose and his eyebags and that scar—

“You still need to tell me that story,” you murmur, and he turns his head, swallowing with a quirked eyebrow. “Of your scar. We could trade.”

“You have scars I don’t know about?” he asks mischievously, and you roll your eyes, struggling not to laugh as his lips sneak a kiss. Reciprocating, you can’t help but wrinkle your nose at the taste of spotchka on his mouth. Maker, the stuff is not your cup of tea. Obi-Wan seems to note your reaction because he pulls away, kissing your eyes and between your eyebrows before pulling back. “Not a drinker, are you?”

“Oh, I am.” You try not to pull the face that’s so desperately begging you to come out. “Just… not something I’m used to tasting.”

“Well, we still have time.” He blinks, returning to the rest of the food they have laid out in between them in their tiny tin containers, and you sigh, just watching him. With every passing moment, you just see more and _more_ of the Obi-Wan you think he could’ve grown to be. The fissures are barely covered by dry jokes and thin smiles, but still, you can see where the dark side had shattered him in to pieces.

No matter. You suppose that this is where their life together begins. Building each other up again.

He catches you staring as he pulls a grape off its stem and pops it into his mouth.

“What is it?” he asks curiously, amused, and you say nothing, brushing hair out of his eyes and marvelling at the gentle blueness that stares back at you. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” you whisper. “Not at all. I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you, too. This isn’t a dream?”

You shake your head. “This isn’t a dream.”

And he kisses you.


End file.
